Daddy's Girl
by Jules3
Summary: Chapter Three! (Bet you all thought I'd dropped off the face of the earth, huh?) Anyway... part three here at long last. Kind of short, but another chapter nonetheless. Plus, it's a stepping stone to part four... enjoy!
1. Welcome and Farewell, Happiness and Grie...

OKAY, HERE'S MY NEW FIC. THIS FIRST PART IS KIND OF LIKE THE INTRO, AND I DON'T KNOW HOW MANY CHAPTERS THIS IS GOING TO HAVE BECAUSE I HAVEN'T REALLY HASHED OUT THE ENTIRE IDEA YET, BUT TIME WILL TELL. THIS IS SET IN THE FUTURE (ABOUT 2018 OR SO) BUT THERE ARE FLASHBACKS THROUGHOUT. PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK OF THIS... AND WHILE THIS MIGHT LOOK LIKE IT'S HEADED NOWHERE, IT WILL BE SOON. HOPEFULLY. LOL. ANYWAY, PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW!   
  
  
AND, ON A DIFFERENT NOTE: DOES ANYONE FIND THIS NEW SEPARATION OF NEW STORIES AND UPDATED CHAPTERS CONFUSING? I DO... THEN AGAIN, I'M NOT THAT BRIGHT, LOL. :-) JUST THOUGHT I'D VENT. OK, YOU CAN READ IT NOW.  
  
  
DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN THESE CHARACTERS. WELL, NOT THE SIX FAMOUS ONES, ANYWAY. THE ONES WHOSE NAMES DON'T RING ANY BELLS PROBABLY BELONG TO ME (AND ARE THEREFORE FAR LESS WELL-DEVELOPED, LOL).  
  
  
Sarah sighed as she opened the front door to her apartment and realized, as she did most nights, that it was dark and no one was home. She dumped her books and her bag on the couch and bent over the answering machine. When she saw that it was flashing, she hit the button and listened as her father's voice filled the room.  
  
"Hey, Sarah, it's Dad. Listen, I've got to go out for dinner with Doug, so I'll probably be home late. There's money in the top drawer of my dresser if you want to order pizza, or you can go to Ross and Rachel's for dinner if you want to. I called them and they said that they'd love to have you, so give them a call if you want. I've got my 'cell phone if you need me. Bye." There was a click and the electronic voice of the machine informed her that she had no other messages. She glanced around the dark apartment once more and, ultimately deciding that she didn't feel like another night of dinner alone, she grabbed her jacket and headed over to her uncle's house.  
  
  
  
  
"Hey, sweetie!" Sarah smiled as her Aunt Rachel opened the door and gave her a hug. "How was school?" she asked, taking her jacket.  
  
"Schoolish," Sarah replied bluntly. "Only six months left until graduation. I can't wait." Rachel smiled.  
  
"So how are the college applications coming along?"   
  
Sarah groaned. "That is quite possibly the most tedious of tasks. I mean, I have no idea what my greatest achievement is... hell, I'm only seventeen! To be perfectly honest, I'm proud of the fact that I'm not a doped-up teenage mother... that in itself is beating some odds." Rachel smiled. Her goddaughter undoubtedly had her father's wit. "Where's Uncle Ross?"  
  
"In the kitchen," she said, shooing her toward the back of the house. "I put him in charge of dinner tonight."   
  
"Oh, man... maybe I should just get pizza, after all."  
  
Rach smiled. "Actually, he's getting better. Tonight I requested spaghetti. Tough one to screw up."  
  
Sarah grinned. "I wouldn't put it past him."  
  
"I heard that!" Sarah smiled as she walked into the bright kitchen. "Hey, kiddo." He kissed his niece on top of the head and returned his attention to the task at hand.  
  
"Hey, Uncle Ross. Just kidding. Dad said it would be okay if I joined you guys." Ross nodded.  
  
"Of course! If you can put up with us for an evening."  
  
She laughed. "Anything's better than pizza alone with just the TV for conversation." She noticed a sad look cross Rachel's face and she immediately felt bad. "Wow, I really am a weird teenager... most kids would kill for that!" she said, in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere. A somewhat awkward pause followed before Ross suggested that Rachel grab the garlic bread out of the oven. Sarah raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Garlic bread?" Rach grinned.  
  
"Frozen stuff," she whispered. "Minimal cooking required." Ross glared at her as Sarah laughed.  
  
"So... how's Ben?" she asked, leaning against the counter.  
  
"He's doing well," Ross replied. "Still looking for, and I quote, 'the right job.' But he's fine... the first year after college is never easy." Sarah nodded. Although Ben was 24, they'd always gotten on really well, even when they were kids. She figured that was to be expected, given that she practically grew up at her aunt and uncle's house. "Okay, well, this is ready, I think." Ross scooped out a noodle and threw it at the wall, smiling when it stuck. "Yep. Ready."   
  
Rachel rolled her eyes and sighed. "The mark of a true chef. Monica must have really rubbed off on you." She paused and glanced at Sarah, who offered a small smile. The three were silent for a moment before Rach clapped her hands. "Okay! Sit, people!" Sarah sank into one of the chairs at the table and smiled, glad that they'd offered to have her over. As much as she liked being alone sometimes, dinner alone got old.  
  
  
  
  
"I'm going to check on Nicholas," Ross informed them after they'd cleared the plates away. Rachel nodded and Ross left the kitchen to look in on their 2-year-old son. Sarah smiled absently as he left.   
  
"How's Nick?" Rachel sighed.  
  
"Well, I know what they mean by 'terrible two's' now," she mused. "Everything's a 'no.' But Ross said Ben was the same way, so at least I know he's normal. Either that, or it's just a Geller thing." Sarah smiled.  
  
"Amazing that even when you want to kill them, they're still so cute."   
  
Rachel laughed. "Tell me about it. Sometimes I try to be so strict, but he gives me that look and I can't help giving in."  
  
"I always wanted a little brother," Sarah mused in a far-off voice. Rachel smiled slightly.  
  
"Yeah, well, sometimes younger siblings can be hell. Trust me. My younger sister, Jill... ugh... nightmare." Sarah smiled again. "You want some hot chocolate, sweetie?"  
  
"Sure." Rachel nodded and made them each a cup and then suggested they go into the den, to which Sarah agreed.   
  
"So, where are you applying?" Rach asked as they sank into the couch.  
  
"Well, at the moment I think just NYU, Boston College, UCLA, and Florida State." Rachel raised her eyebrows.   
  
"Wow. Talk about trans-continental." Sarah nodded. "Which one's your first choice?"  
  
"UCLA."  
  
"Wow," she said again. "Pretty far."   
  
"Yeah. I want to get out of here."  
  
"What does your father say about that?"  
  
"What does he ever say? I only applied to NYU because he wanted me to apply to at least one school here, but if I get in anywhere else, I'm out of here."   
  
Rachel smiled sadly. "He's going to miss you next year."  
  
"Hmph. He'll probably see me more next year than he does now," she scoffed. She felt immediately guilty when Rachel looked at her sadly. "Sorry."  
  
"Oh, sweetie, it's okay. I know you... don't entirely understand him, but trust me. He loves you more than you will ever know."  
  
Sarah sighed as she turned her mug around in her hands. "Yeah, well... you'd never know it from my end." She looked up. "Sorry, that sounds so self-pitying. I just... I wish that he'd just... I don't know... act like he cared. He's just... so... nonchalant. Cut off."  
  
"I know, sweetie."   
  
Sarah looked at her carefully and was silent for a moment before she spoke again. "What happened that day?" Rachel gazed at her, slightly surprised.  
  
"What day?"  
  
"The day I was born," she said carefully.   
  
Rach shifted uneasily. "Um, look, hon, I think this is a discussion you and your father should have."  
  
"Please, Aunt Rachel. All I know is what he thought I needed to know. Nothing... explanatory." Rach sighed.   
  
"Okay, if you're sure you want to hear this, I'll tell you."  
  
Sarah nodded. "I'm sure."  
  
"All right. Well, you know your parents had been married for a year..."  
  
  
  
  
**FLASHBACK**  
  
  
  
  
"Hi, sweetheart!" Chandler grinned as he entered the apartment.  
  
"Hi, yourself," he replied, bending over the back of the couch and kissing her on the forehead. "And hello to you," he said, rubbing her bump. "What did you two do today?"  
  
Monica groaned. "Absolutely nothing. I have cabin fever," she complained as she shifted slightly. Chandler smiled.  
  
"Well, would my beautiful wife and my unborn child like to go out for a walk?" He laughed when Monica's eyes lit up like a child who had found a new toy.  
  
"Yes!" she yelped, trying to stand, smiling gratefully when he helped her off the couch. "Let's go!"  
  
"Sweetie, you might want to bring a jacket."  
  
"Chandler, it's the middle of May. I'm not going to need a jacket."  
  
"Please?" he said, giving her the puppy-eyes that drove her crazy simply because she could never say no to them. "Just in case it gets chilly."  
  
"Oh, all right," she said, sighing. "I swear, you'd think I was made of glass, never mind pregnant." He smiled.  
  
"Very pregnant," he corrected her.  
  
"Why, thank you. I was unaware of that, even though I'm fat, moody, and constantly have swollen ankles." He smiled.  
  
"Just thought you'd like to hear Dr. Bing's diagnosis."  
  
"Well, thanks. I'll keep it in mind." He grinned again as he opened the door for her, following her as she waddled out.  
  
  
  
  
"I still like Nicholas," Monica said, licking the ice cream cone Chandler had gotten her from the nearby vendor as they sat on a bench in the park.  
  
"Yeah, I like Nicholas. I just think that Alexander sounds better with 'Bing.'" After a thoughtful silence, Monica nodded.   
  
"Yeah, I guess you're right about that. Alexander Bing. Alex." She nodded again. "Okay, Alexander for a boy. What about the girl names?"  
  
"I'm sticking by Mackenzie Elizabeth."  
  
"Sarah Elizabeth."  
  
"Mackenzie."  
  
"Sarah."  
  
"Hey, we went with your boy's name!" Chandler argued.  
  
"Right. Which proves I'm better at picking names," Monica countered. Chandler rolled his eyes.   
  
"We'll just see. We still have time yet."  
  
"Yeah. Probably hours." He smiled, sobering when he noted that a funny expression had crossed her face.  
  
"Mon?"  
  
"Um, yeah. That hurt."  
  
He jumped up, dumping his half-eaten ice cream cone in the trash can next to them. "Hurt? What hurt? The baby? Baby hurt?"  
  
"Um, sweetheart? Help me up." Chandler obliged, taking her arm and helping her stand. As she rose, her water suddenly broke. "Okay, yeah. Hospital time."  
  
"Oh, God," Chandler yelped. "Hospital! Okay. Um." He paused, looking at Monica for instruction before he snapped his fingers. "Cab!" He went to run toward the street, stopping when he heard Monica calling him. He turned to see her waddling toward him slowly, hands on her stomach. "Oh, right!" He ran back toward her, gently taking hold of her arm and guiding her toward the street. He hailed a cab and helped her into the backseat, running around and jumping in the other side. "Beth Israel, please! Fast!" The driver took a quick look at the very pregnant Monica and nodded, registering what was going on.   
  
"Hold on, I'll have you there in no time!" Tires squealing, he pulled away from the curb and began the weaving in and out of traffic of the city streets.  
  
  
  
  
"Good luck, man!" the cabbie yelled as Chandler helped Monica out of the car.  
  
"Thanks!" Chandler replied as he slammed the cab door and guided Monica into the hospital. He grabbed the nearest person in scrubs.  
  
"Pregnant lady. Baby coming. Coming now." He paused as the guy simply stared at him. "Help!" he yelled, exasperated.  
  
"Well, my first words of advice would be to find an actual doctor," the guy suggested. "I'm just a patient. Well, my wife is. Just had a baby myself."  
  
"Congratulations," Monica offered, breathing heavily.  
  
"Thanks," he said, smiling. "Talk to that woman," he offered, pointing toward the nurses' station. Chandler guided Monica to the desk and turned to the woman sitting behind it. Before he could speak, the woman held up her hand.  
  
"Yes, sir, I heard. Name?"  
  
"Depends on if it's a boy or a girl," he replied, exasperated. "We haven't got time for this!"  
  
"Sir, I meant your wife's name," she explained.  
  
"Oh," he said sheepishly. "Monica Bing." She nodded and waved to a passing nurse.  
  
"Abby, take Mrs. Bing and get her ready for delivery. Mr. Bing? John will take you to get some scrubs." Chandler nodded and leaned toward Monica.   
  
"I'll be right back, babe," he said softly, kissing her lightly on the forehead before following the retreating doctor.  
  
  
  
  
"Hi, Monica, I'm Dr. DeWitt."   
  
"Hello," she replied, breathing heavily.  
  
"I see you're doing your Lamaze breathing, that's excellent," he said as he looked at her chart. Chandler entered, decked out in pale blue hospital scrubs, and immediately took his place next to the delivery table.  
  
"Hey, babe," he whispered, kissing her forehead, which was already damp with sweat. "I called the guys. They're on the way." She nodded, eyes closed as she waited for the contraction to pass. He gently brushed away the hair that was sticking to her forehead and kissed her again. She allowed her head to fall back as she opened her eyes and smiled up at him.  
  
"Wow," she said, low enough so that the doctor couldn't hear.  
  
"What?"  
  
"You look all sexy in those."   
  
Chandler grinned. "You know, missy, it's exactly that kind of thinking that got you into this situation."  
  
She smiled back. "Yeah, well, as I seem to remember it, you were there, too."   
  
He grinned again. "Don't I know it."  
  
"Okay, Monica," the doctor interrupted. "On the next one we're going to push, okay?"  
  
"We?" Monica inquired. "Wow, modern technology. Now labor is a group effort."   
  
Chandler stared at her for a moment. "I think you've been around me too long. Sarcasm's starting to rub off." She rolled her eyes.  
  
"Okay, doctor, push we shall." A few minutes later another contraction hit, and Monica pushed, squeezing Chandler's hand and closing her eyes tightly, her jaw clenched. He rested his forehead against her temple and closed his eyes.   
  
"I love you. You're doing great, sweetheart. I love you so much."  
  
"Love you, too," she whispered back breathlessly.  
  
"Okay, doing great, Monica, we have a head. And we're pushing again. That's good," he encouraged her, suddenly pausing. "Okay, wait, Monica, stop pushing."  
  
"Stop? God, I really wish you people would make up your minds..."  
  
"Abby! Get Dr. Langston in here. Now!" Monica opened her eyes and stared down at him.  
  
"What?" Chandler demanded. "What's going on?"  
  
"Nothing, sir. Relax. Dr. Langston is the head of the OB department." Chandler stared at him, not believing him but not wanting to alarm Monica by pressing it. Suddenly the nurse, Abby, burst back into the room with an older doctor in tow.  
  
"What's going on, Bob?" he demanded of the doctor, putting on latex gloves.  
  
"Possible shoulder dystocia," he said urgently.   
  
"Stats?"  
  
"Thirty-year-old mother, 35 weeks, fully dilated, presented with progressing delivery and close contractions."  
  
"Fetal heart rate?"  
  
"Down to 120 from 140."  
  
"Is that bad?" Chandler asked, trying to make sense of the medical lingo.  
  
"As long as it stays between 120 and 160, we're fine," the doctor assured him. "Okay, Bob, we're going to try rotating the posterior shoulder. Abby, stand by."  
  
"What's going on?" Chandler demanded as he felt Monica tighten her grip on his hand and saw the worried look on her face.  
  
"Sir, we have what's called a shoulder dystocia, which means the baby's shoulder is stuck on your wife's pelvic bone. We're going to try rotating it to get the baby out." Chandler nodded, having nothing else to say, once again placing his forehead against Monica's temple.  
  
"It'll be okay. You're so amazing," he whispered. "I love you." Monica nodded, her eyes filling with tears as she tried to concentrate on what the doctors were doing.   
  
"I can't free the shoulder," Dr. Langston said after a moment, the urgency clear in his voice. "Abby, call OB and get a cesarean tray."  
  
"Cesarean?" Monica asked in a small voice.  
  
"Ma'am, we can't free the shoulder, and if we wait too long we run the risk of brain damage." Monica's breath caught in her throat as the tears fell and Chandler put his arm protectively around her.  
  
"It'll be okay," he reassured her. "It'll all be fine."  
  
"Sir, you'll have to wait outside," Dr. DeWitt said as he took Chandler's arm. Chandler whirled to face him, his face conveying his irritation.  
  
"This is my wife and child! There is no way in hell you're throwing me out of here. I'm staying."  
  
"Mr. Bing, we need to be able to operate on your wife. You need to wait outside." Chandler was vaguely aware of Abby taking a hold of his arm. He leaned over Monica, noting the worry in her eyes.  
  
"I'll be right outside," he whispered, kissing her on the lips and hating the idea of leaving her alone. "I love you."   
  
"Mr. Bing," the doctor said warningly, knowing that every moment they waited was another moment closer to danger. Chandler nodded, looking at Monica lovingly and then stepping outside the delivery room.  
  
"Chandler!" Before he had time to think, Ross descended on him, followed closely by Rachel, Phoebe, and Joey.  
  
"Hey, guys," he said absently.  
  
"What's going on?" Phoebe asked.  
  
"They kicked me out," he said shortly. "They have to do a C-section."  
  
"Oh God... is everything okay?" Ross asked.  
  
Chandler shrugged. "They said the baby's shoulder was stuck on Mon's pelvic bone or something and that they'd have to do a cesarean." He began to lose his cool. "Then they said something about brain damage and if they waited..." He trailed off, terrified. "What do I do?" he asked helplessly.  
  
"Okay, man, it's okay," Joey said comfortingly, placing his arm over his best friend's shoulder. "Come on." He led Chandler toward the chairs across the hall and sat next to him.  
  
"You want some coffee sweetie?" Rachel asked gently. Chandler shook his head silently as he began to rock slightly, waiting to hear from the doctors.  
  
  
  
  
Monica stared up at the bright fluorescent lights above her and tried to listen to the doctors' voices above her. She tried to stop the tears that were rolling down her face and onto the sheet below her head, but found the combined emotions of fear and confusion too much to handle. She suddenly began to feel faint and she could vaguely hear a beeping noise that sounded very far off. She closed her eyes, ignoring the doctor's frantic voices urging her to open them as she slowly slipped into darkness, a darkness in which all she saw was a pair of calm blue eyes.  
  
"Mrs. Bing? Dammit, she's seizing." Monica's body began to convulse as she went into an eclampsia-induced seizure. "Intubate!" the doctor barked. "Her pressure's skyrocketing!" They administered hydralazine to lower her pressure and Dr. Langston grabbed an instrument from the cesarean tray. "If we don't get the baby out, neither ONE of them will make it." He made the incision and a few moments later another monitor began to beep. "Shit! She's bleeding out. Abby, get 10 units of O-neg!" he ordered. A second later he removed the baby, clamped the umbilical cord, and handed it to the waiting pediatric nurse, who noticed that it was not breathing. She ordered another nurse to page the pediatric resident as she placed the infant on a table. The pediatric resident showed up almost immediately and intubated the baby as the nurse administered CPR.  
  
  
  
  
"God, I don't know what to do!" Chandler cried as he paced up and down the corridor. "What do I DO? My wife has to have an operation because our baby is in trouble. GOD... screw Lamaze, they need to offer training for THIS!" Rachel rose and stood beside him.   
  
"Calm down, hon, I'm sure she'll be fine. Just sit down, relax."  
  
"How the hell can I relax?" he yelled. She stared at him and he sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm just... I'm worried."  
  
"I know, sweetie," she said softly. Suddenly the door of Monica's delivery room opened and the OB nurse wheeled out a small plastic trolley with a clear dome over it. Chandler stared at it, suddenly realizing that there was a baby inside.  
  
"Wha-- Is-- Is that our baby?" he asked frantically. The nurse nodded.   
  
"Congratulations, sir, you have a baby girl. But we need to get her up to the NICU."  
  
"Why? What's wrong with her?" Chandler demanded.  
  
"Nothing, your daughter is fine now, but there were some complications during delivery and we need to keep her under observation."  
  
"What about my wife?" he pleaded.  
  
"They're still working on her," the nurse said.  
  
"What? Why? The baby's out, right? All done. Why are they still working on her? Is something wrong?"  
  
"The doctor will be out as soon as possible. Right now I need to get your daughter upstairs," she said firmly. Chandler watched them go as he turned helplessly to face his friends, his anxiety written clearly across his face.  
  
"It'll be okay," Rach whispered, rubbing his back and hoping that she was right.  
  
  
  
  
"EKG's showing multifocal PVCs," Dr. DeWitt said to Dr. Langston. "Pressure's down."  
  
"I know," Langston replied, bagging her manually. Suddenly the monitor began to beep again. "Lost the pulse!" he yelled, grabbing the defibrillation paddles. "Charge to 260!" He waited a moment and shocked her, watching the EKG intently for any blips. When none appeared, he nodded to the nurse. "300!" He shocked her again with no result. "360! Clear!" The third shock resulted in no change either, and Dr. DeWitt stared at the attending, awaiting further instruction. "How long's she been down?" Langston demanded.  
  
"Thirty minutes, sir," he replied.  
  
"Start the external heart massage," he ordered. Twelve minutes later, as he stared blankly at the EKG, which was still showing a flatline, he sighed.  
  
"Stop compressions." He glanced at the clock. "Time of death, 18:57." He glanced down at Monica and angrily ripped off his latex gloves, throwing them on the floor and storming out of the delivery room.  
  
  
  
  
As the door opened, Chandler jumped up from his seat and approached the doctor. "Can I see her now?" he asked anxiously.   
  
The doctor swallowed. "Mr. Bing, I need to speak with you for a moment." Chandler felt his heart leap into his throat and he tried to swallow.   
  
"Why? What happened?"  
  
"Sir, there were some complications with your wife's delivery."  
  
"I know that," he interrupted. "That's why you had to do a C-section." The doctor shook his head.  
  
"No, sir, I mean there were more complications. After we began the C-section."   
  
"What-- What kind of complications?" he asked hesitantly, feeling Rachel grip his arm and feeling the presence of the rest of his friends behind him.  
  
"Well, when we began the cesarean section, she had a seizure, which is a sign of a condition in pregnant women called eclampsia. We had to intubate her and her blood pressure skyrocketed." Chandler swallowed.  
  
"She bled out and her heartbeat stopped." Chandler's breath caught in his throat. "We tried to get it going again, but we couldn't."  
  
"What are you saying?" he asked in a small voice.  
  
"Mr. Bing, I'm very sorry, but your wife died." He felt as though the words were a sword driven right through him. He tried to make sense of the situation, but his mind was racing and he found that he couldn't breathe.  
  
"What do you mean, she DIED?" he demanded. "She was pregnant, not SICK! She can't be dead! She's going to be FINE!" The doctor remained quiet as Chandler raged on, ignoring the tears that were now streaming down his face. "I NEED her! She's my wife! We have a new baby!" He felt Rachel's hand on his arm and he turned to face her, looking into her already tear-stained face. "Rach," he said desperately. She hugged him wordlessly as her own tears ran down her cheeks. He allowed her to hug him for a moment before pushing her away. "No. Not Monica. Not my Monica." He looked around at the four faces, all reading expressions of pain, although he was certain none of them could possibly be feeling what he was feeling. "No! I-- I need-- to get out." He blindly stumbled down the corridor and into the restroom where he collapsed into one of the stalls and threw up the ice cream he'd eaten only hours ago. He sank onto the floor, his body convulsing with sobs as he tried in vain to make sense of the situation. He realized that the only thing that could ease his pain would be Monica's arms around him, and he knew, in that instant, that if he could never be in her embrace again, he could never be happy again either.  
  
  
  
  
"Chandler?" He quickly flushed the toilet and rose from the cool floor of the hospital bathroom. He emerged from the stall, his face red and puffy and his eyes swollen. He looked at Joey silently before going to the sink to splash cold water on his face. Joey handed him a wad of paper towels, fighting the tears that threatened to resurface. He knew that the last thing Chandler needed was to deal with someone else's pain. "Ross sent me to see if you were okay."  
  
"Of course I'm not fucking okay!" Chandler exploded. "My wife, my Monica, my best friend, the only woman I've ever been totally in love with, and the mother of my child is DEAD! How the hell could I be okay?" Joey hung his head sadly and Chandler sighed. "Sorry, Joe."  
  
Joey shook his head. "No, man, I'm sorry. For everything."   
  
Chandler drew a shaky breath as his eyes once again filled. "Joey," he said, his voice strangled. "I just don't know what to do. I can't... I can't exist without her. I just can't. She's been my entire life, and now she's gone..." The tears spilled over. "I can't survive without her."  
  
"You have to," he replied sadly. "You're a father now. There's someone else who needs you, too." Chandler covered his face with his hands.  
  
"I can't be a father. I mean, I was excited about being a dad, and I thought I could do it, but that was only because I had Monica beside me to be the mom. But now..." His voice trailed off and he shook his head. "I can't do it alone."  
  
"Have you seen her?" he asked after a moment.  
  
"Who?"  
  
"The baby."  
  
Chandler shook his head. "Not really. Once when they were wheeling her upstairs right after she was delivered."  
  
"You should see her."  
  
"What about Monica?" he asked. He didn't know if he could handle seeing her dead, but he knew he just had to try. Joey shrugged.  
  
"I think they're cleaning her up." Chandler shoved his way past him and into the hallway. He walked past the pained and concerned eyes of his friends and into the room where Monica had gone into labor, gasping when he saw one of the nurses wheeling the EKG monitors away, having cleaned up already.  
  
"Can I help you?" she asked.  
  
"That--" Chandler swallowed the lump in his throat. "That's my wife." The nurse's eyes softened and she nodded slightly.  
  
"I'm sorry." She left quietly, giving him a few moments alone with Monica. Chandler approached the table slowly, almost as though she were asleep and he didn't want to wake her. But in that moment, he wanted her to open her eyes more than anything.  
  
"Monica," he breathed, his eyes filling again and the tears flowing. "Oh, God, Monica..." He sat in the stool that he'd been sitting in not more than an hour ago and buried his face in her neck. The skin was cool, and he cried harder at the realization that he'd never again bury his face in the warmth of her neck and kiss the soft skin as he made love to her. He'd never get to see the special smile that she wore just for him and he'd never again get to feel her kisses, the kisses that had made his life worth living. Never again would he get to wake up next to her or fall asleep with his arms wrapped around her, and he'd never get to hear her tell him that she loved him again. His body shook with the sobs, and he tried to breathe deeply, aching for at least one more hint of the smell that had become so soothing and familiar. He caught a faint trace of what he'd christened the "Monica smell" -- her soap, shampoo, and perfume, and instead of making him feel better it only made his heartache more severe.   
He pulled away from her neck and gazed down at her pale face. "I love you," he whispered fiercely. "Love you forever and ever." It reminded him of a line he'd once heard and he leaned in and whispered it in her ear: "Together forever, never apart, maybe in distance, but never in heart." He kissed her lips gently, trying to pretend that he could feel her kissing him back. "I love you, Monica. Always." He squeezed her hand and kissed her once more. He took one last look at her beautiful face and tore his gaze away from her, walking out of the room and collapsing into sobs the moment he stepped outside the door.   
  
Rachel ran up to him and tried to hug him, but he pushed her away. "No. I have to see the baby." She nodded understandingly and took hold of his arm, guiding him toward the elevator while the others continued to wait in the waiting room. Ross was sobbing as Phoebe tried to comfort him and Joey was staring mutely at the wall.  
  
  
  
  
As they stepped out onto the ICU floor, she pointed to the sign that directed them toward the neonatal ICU. He nodded numbly and allowed her to lead him there. He paused outside the door and took a shaky breath, his eyes still misty.   
  
"Do you want me to wait out here?" Rachel asked softly. He shook his head.  
  
"Come with me?" he pleaded. She nodded and entered the NICU behind him.   
  
"Can I help you?" a nurse asked.  
  
"YES! YOU CAN BRING MY WIFE BACK!" he wanted to yell. But he simply stared at her, and said "Bing baby" so quietly that she could barely hear him. She nodded and pointed toward the nearest cot.   
  
"She's right there."   
  
Rachel kept a hold of his arm as they approached the tiny plastic crib, and she heard him hold his breath as they looked at the baby within. She was tiny, and as she yawned Rachel felt her eyes fill with tears at the knowledge that Monica would never get to see her daughter.  
  
"Do you want to hold her?" The nurse's voice cut through their thoughts as she smiled. "She's fine now. A little unstable at first, but she's going to be just fine." She leaned in as if to pick the baby up, but was cut off by Chandler.  
  
"No." She paused, surprised.  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"I-- I can't hold her. I don't know what to do. The first person to hold her should be her mother."  
  
"Chandler." Rachel's voice was gentle as she tried to fight back her own tears. "Hold your daughter." He turned to face her, his own eyes brimming.  
  
"Rach--"  
  
"I know, sweetie. But you're still a daddy." He looked at her for a moment longer before turning and nodding to the nurse. She pulled a chair up by the crib and Chandler sat down, with Rachel still standing next to him. The nurse gently placed the baby in his arms and smiled as she walked away.  
  
"She's beautiful, Chandler," Rach whispered as she tried to dry her eyes.  
  
"Just like her mother," he whispered, his voice shaking. He began to rock as he cried, holding the only child he would ever have to remind him of Monica. The child whose arrival filled him with such an intense combination of joy and grief that he didn't know what to do or feel.  
  
"What are you going to name her?" Rachel asked after a moment.  
  
"Sarah Elizabeth Bing," he said quietly.  
  
"Beautiful name for a beautiful girl," she said.  
  
Chandler nodded. "That was Monica's choice," he whispered as he gazed down. "And she was right. It's perfect." He allowed his tears to dampen the baby blanket as he held his daughter, trying to draw comfort from the tiny bundle.  
  
  
  
  
**END OF FLASHBACK**  
  
  
  
  
"He was afraid to hold me?" Sarah asked quietly, drying the tears that dampened her cheeks.  
  
"Yeah," Rachel said quietly. "He didn't have much experience with babies, and he didn't know what to do." She smiled slightly. "God, he was so nervous about having you. The whole time your mom was pregnant, he would have these almost panic attacks because he thought he was going to be a horrible father and that he'd screw you up."  
  
"How'd you get him to calm down?"  
  
"It was usually your mom who calmed him down," she said after a moment. "She always said that they were a team and that they'd get through anything." She paused. "I never remembered that until now. He was so afraid of being a single dad... he'd always thought that Monica would be there with him and then..." She trailed off.  
  
"I wish I could remember her," Sarah said quietly after a moment of silence. Rach smiled sadly.  
  
"Well, we all have stories about her. I mean, your Uncle Ross can tell you about when she was a kid, and me and Phoebe can tell you about when we each lived with her, and your dad has tons of stories about after I moved out."  
  
"I wish he'd tell them," Sarah said sadly.  
  
"It's just hard for him, sweetie," Rach said gently.  
  
"I know. But it's hard for me, too! I mean, I know he lost his wife, but I lost my mother. Not only did I lose my mother, but..." She paused. "I never even knew my mother. Added to which... my father can't handle talking about her."   
  
Rachel sighed. "I know sweetheart. I know." They sat in silence and finished their hot chocolate, each lost in her own thoughts.  
  
  
  
  
END OF PART ONE. I KNOW WE DIDN'T SEE MUCH (WELL, ANY) OF THE 2018 CHANDLER IN THIS FIC, BUT HE'LL SHOW UP SOON! PROMISE! THIS WAS TO GET THE BALL ROLLING, LOL. PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK OF THIS AND THE OVERALL IDEA... OR AT LEAST WHAT YOU CAN GRASP OF IT SO FAR... LET ME KNOW! THANKS FOR READING! :-)  
  



	2. Opening the Gates

HI AGAIN! THANKS SO MUCH FOR ALL THE REVIEWS! YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH I ENJOY READING THEM. :-) PLEASE LEAVE AN OPINION FOR THIS CHAPTER AS WELL! ANY COMMENTS, CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM, AND/OR SUGGESTIONS ARE WELCOME! THANKS!  
(*SIDE NOTE... HAD A SAND SOCCER TOURNAMENT YESTERDAY AND SPENT MUCH OF THE AFTERNOON WATCHING A GAME IN WHICH THERE WAS A PLAYER WHO, AND I AM NOT LYING, LOOKED EXACTLY LIKE MATTHEW PERRY. SERIOUSLY. EVEN MY FRIENDS AGREED. ::SIGH:: TOUGH TO CONCENTRATE ON SOCCER AFTER THAT, LET ME TELL YOU!*)   
  
  
  
  
As Sarah sat on her bed with her journal in her lap, she silently gazed out the window as the lyrics to one of her favorite songs filled the room. She didn't know why, but every time she heard it, she thought of her mother. While she had no memories of the woman who'd given birth to her, the stories and memories provided by the five people that knew her had to suffice, and Sarah had used them to build her own. She stared out at the rain that was drizzling down her windowpane and absently twirled her pen around in her fingers as she let the familiar lyrics surround her.  
  
  
Spend all your time waiting for that second chance.  
  
For a break that would make it okay.  
  
There's always one reason to feel not good enough,  
  
And it's hard at the end of the day.  
  
I need some distraction,  
  
Oh, beautiful release,  
  
Memory seeps from my veins,  
  
Let me be empty,  
  
Oh, and weightless and maybe I'll find some peace tonight.  
  
In the arms of an angel,  
  
Fly away from here,  
  
From this dark, cold, hotel room,  
  
And the endlessness that you fear.  
  
You are pulled from the wreckage   
  
Of your silent reverie,  
  
In the arms of your angel,  
  
May you find some comfort here.  
  
You're so tired of the straight line  
  
And everywhere you turn  
  
There's vultures and thieves at your back,  
  
The storm keeps on twisting,  
  
You keep on building on the lie  
  
That you make up for all that you lack,  
  
It don't make no difference,  
  
Escaping one last time,  
  
It's easier to believe in this sweet madness,  
  
Oh, this glorious sadness that brings me to my knees.  
  
In the arms of the angel,  
  
Fly away from here,  
  
From this stark, cold, hotel room,   
  
And the endlessness that you fear,  
  
Oh, you are pulled from the wreckage  
  
Of your silent reverie,  
  
In the arms of the angel,   
  
May you find some comfort here.  
  
  
  
As the last notes of the song drifted out, she stopped the disc and put her journal on the bed, rising and going over to her desk. She opened the bottom drawer and pulled out her photo album and then shut the drawer as she headed back to her bed. Plopping down on her stomach, she flipped it open and turned past the pages onto which she'd glued photos of her and her friends. In the back, clipped to the very last page, was a photograph that had been handled so often that the edges were rough and the corners bent. It was her favorite picture of her mother, and the worn looks told how often she looked at it.   
  
Rachel had told her that it was taken just after her parents had gotten engaged. She could tell that it was the same apartment, and she figured it had to be near summertime because they were all wearing cool clothing. Her mother had on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, and her father was wearing a pair of khaki pants and a polo shirt.   
  
She stared at her parents and the happy looks on their faces. Monica was standing between the kitchen and the couch and Chandler was behind her with his arms around her waist. Her hands were over his and they were both smiling at the camera. Sarah felt a pang as she realized, not for the first time, that the picture was the only time and place she'd ever seen that look on her father's face. He looked happy, and while he wasn't constantly miserable now, he never had the same look that seemed to light up his whole face.  
  
Sarah stared at the face of the beautiful woman that was smiling back up at her, and she tried to feel connected to her, but the same feeling returned that she always felt when she thought of her mother for a long enough period of time. Her eyes filled with tears as she carefully placed the photo back in the album and put the book back in her drawer. She turned off her bedroom light and crawled under the covers after she'd hidden her journal underneath her mattress.  
  
As she buried her face in her pillow, she allowed the tears to disappear into the cool, white linen as she tried to ignore the thoughts that had surfaced once again.  
  
"I killed my mother," she whispered into the darkness, hoping that saying it would somehow make it sound absurd. But she didn't feel illogical -- she only felt worse. "My mother's dead and my father's unhappy because of me." She grabbed the stuffed dog that resided on the pillow beside her -- a toy that Phoebe had given her when she was young and that she had christened "Benbo" after her cousin. She tried to find solace in the dog's matted fur, but she found herself wishing that she was crying to something that had arms to hug her back.  
  
  
  
  
"Sarah?" Chandler poked his head in her bedroom door and tried to make out her form through the darkness. "You asleep?"  
  
"Almost," came the groggy reply.  
  
"Sorry," he whispered. "I just wanted to tell you I was home. I'm sorry about dinner tonight."  
  
"'S okay," she mumbled. "Went to Uncle Ross's."  
  
"Oh. Okay. Well... goodnight then," he whispered as he kissed her lightly on the forehead.  
  
"'Night, Dad."   
  
He closed the door silently behind him and went into the kitchen as he loosened his tie and tossed it onto the couch. Turning on the coffeepot, he sank into one of the kitchen chairs and ran his hands through his hair as he sighed. He grabbed the mail off the counter where Sarah had left it and sorted through it, sighing when he realized it was nothing more than a bunch of bills. Suddenly feeling the urge to go for a walk, he rose and turned the coffeepot off and grabbed his jacket.   
  
Not wanting to wake Sarah again, he scribbled a note and exited the apartment, closing the door quietly behind him.  
  
  
  
  
"Hey, Mon," he whispered as he stood in front of Monica's headstone. It seemed that every time he went out for a walk, his legs steered him to the cemetery where his wife was buried. He sat down on the cool grass and took a sip of the coffee that he'd bought from the Starbucks between his apartment and the graveyard. He sat in silence for a moment before sighing.   
  
"Sorry I haven't been here in a couple weeks... things have been crazy." He was silent for another moment before speaking again. "God, babe, I'm really screwed up, aren't I? I mean, here I am, almost eighteen years later, and I still can't..." He trailed off, not knowing how to finish the sentence.   
  
"I'm screwing up Sarah, too, aren't I? I'm such a horrible father... I just..." His eyes filled with tears. "I don't know what to do. I mean, I feel like she's... like she doesn't need me, and she probably hates me." He smiled ironically. "Did I tell you she applied to colleges in four different states? Her first choice is UCLA." He sighed. "Could she GET any further away from me?" He paused as he took another sip of his coffee. "Not that I blame her. It's not like I've done much for her the past eighteen years, why should the next four be any different?" He paused. "You know, you're the only person I can talk to like this?" He was silent for a few minutes before he wiped away the tears that had fallen.   
  
"Eighteen years," he whispered. "Eighteen years, and I still miss you so damn much. I still feel as empty as I did the day you left, and I don't even feel like half a person. Did I tell you Rachel tried to set me up with someone from her job? I got really mad and I yelled at her. I feel bad for flipping out, but I just... I'm not ready, ya know? I mean... I still love you as much as the day I married you and I can't... I just can't imagine being with anyone else. I'm still married to you, and I still love you." Again he wiped the tears from his cheeks.   
  
"God, it all seems so unfair. Thousands and thousands of divorces in this country... thousands of unhappy marriages, and you and me... we were actual soul mates, and you got taken away from me." He paused.   
  
"I wish you were here to tell me what to do. With Sarah... with everything. She's so... she's smart and she's beautiful and... she's so much like you. Sometimes, especially when she's upset, she gets this look on her face and she looks so much like you that it hurts. And she hums just like you. Sometimes when she's cleaning I hear her humming and it feels like you're somewhere in the apartment again." He began to cry a little harder. "It makes me ache... feeling like you're so close, but at the same time you're so far away. All I want is to hear your voice again, to get to kiss you one more time... To have one more second with you I'd give anything in this world." He gazed at her headstone.   
  
"Monica E. Bing," it read. "Beloved wife, mother, daughter, and friend." Underneath, Chandler had put a line from an old Yeats poem that he knew she had loved: "Take me out of this dull world, for I will ride with you upon the wind and dance across the mountains like a flame."  
  
He absently ran his fingers over the cool stone before rising.   
  
"I'd better get home. I don't want Sarah to wake up alone and worry." He paused as he bent down and kissed the headstone. "I love you," he whispered. "I'll be back soon." He turned and walked away, drying his cheeks and trying to fight the tears that still lurked.  
  
  
  
  
"Sarah," Rachel said, surprised. "Hey, sweetie... everything okay?" She opened the door wider so that her niece could enter.  
  
"Can I ask you something?" Sarah asked frankly.  
  
"Of course. You want something to eat?"   
  
Sarah shook her head and Rachel noticed that there was an album under her arm. "I was looking at these today," she said, producing the book. "And I had a question about something." Rach recognized the album as the one with Sarah's baby pictures in it. She nodded encouragingly. "How come there aren't any pictures of me at home?" Rachel hesitated.   
  
"What do you mean?"   
  
Sarah dropped her bag inside the door and opened the album. "I never really noticed it before, but there aren't any pictures of me in my apartment. Almost all of them are of me over here. And there aren't even as many of me and Dad as there are of me with you and Uncle Ross. Look." She held the open album toward her aunt, who stared at it for a moment and sighed.   
  
"Come on in, hon, let's have a talk." She closed the door behind them and Sarah followed her to the couch. "Can I see?" she asked, holding her hands out for the album. Sarah nodded and handed it to her. She flipped through the pages and noticed that Sarah was right -- there weren't any of her in her own apartment until she was practically a year old. Chandler wasn't even in many of the photos, except the ones from holidays and a few here and there.  
  
"How come?" Sarah asked simply. Rach sighed.  
  
"Hon, maybe this is a conversation you should have with your Dad--"  
  
"Maybe," Sarah interrupted, her voice firm. "But there are a lot of conversations I should have with my Dad that I don't. Right now I'm asking you." Rachel sighed, realizing that Sarah had her mother's determination, and she closed the book slowly.  
  
"Well, basically... there aren't many pictures of you in your apartment early on because you didn't live there."   
  
Sarah frowned. "I thought you guys all told me that I've always lived there... that it was Mom and Dad's apartment when they got married."  
  
Rachel nodded. "Yeah, it was your parents' place. And your Dad has lived there since he first moved in with your Mom." She paused. "But you didn't live there at first."  
  
Sarah's brow furrowed. "I don't get it."  
  
Rach sighed. "You lived with your Uncle Ross... here. This was when your uncle and I were first dating, so I didn't live here, really. But when you moved in, I pretty much camped out here to help out." Reading the look of confusion on her niece's face, she continued slowly. "Your dad... he was really a mess after your mom died. He was barely even alive. He didn't eat, he didn't sleep, he barely spoke... we were so worried about him and we had no idea what to do. He just... withdrew from everything. He could barely look after himself, and we were worried about how he was going to cope with a new baby. I guess he knew what we were thinking because--"  
  
"He unloaded me onto you guys," Sarah said coldly.   
  
"No--" Rachel began, but she was cut off.  
  
"He didn't even want me. The baby who killed his wife." Rachel froze, shocked. Sarah took no notice and continued. "He couldn't even bear to have me in his house? He had to just give me away?"  
  
"No, sweetie, it wasn't like that." Rachel stared at her for a moment. "What do you mean, 'the baby who killed his wife?'" Sarah silenced, realizing that she'd let her emotions dictate her words. "Sarah..." Rachel's voice demanded an explanation.  
  
"Well, it's what I did, isn't it?" she said quietly after a moment. "I killed her. It's my fault she's dead. It's my fault he's so depressed and it's my fault that she's gone." Rachel tried to hug her, but Sarah pushed her arms away and stood up as tears started to roll down her cheeks. "So why don't you guys hate me, too? I mean, I took your best friend and Uncle Ross's sister... if I were you guys, I'd hate me. Makes sense, though... why Dad's the way he is. I mean, who on earth would want to deal with the person who killed their wife?" She turned and ran out of the apartment, leaving Rachel frozen on the couch in a state of shock. She silently rose and picked up Sarah's photo album, feeling a wave of guilt wash over her. After a moment's hesitation, she picked up the phone. It was about time father and daughter worked things out.  
  
  
  
  
"What's up, Rach?" Chandler stepped inside the apartment as she closed the door behind him.  
  
"We have to talk."  
  
"Is this about that woman? Look, I'm sorry I yelled, but..."  
  
"No, Chandler," she cut him off. "It's got nothing to do with her. It's about Sarah." Chandler's eyes flickered.  
  
"What? What happened?" he demanded. "Is she okay? Is she hurt?"  
  
"Not physically."  
  
"Rachel, what the hell is going on?"  
  
"Look, Sarah's fine. It's just... you have to talk to her."  
  
"Why, what about?"  
  
Rach sighed. "She came over today with the photos from when she was a baby and she asked why there weren't any of her in your apartment."   
  
Chandler's eyes narrowed. "What did you tell her?"  
  
"The truth."  
  
"What do you mean, 'the truth?'"  
  
"I mean I told her that she lived here for a year. Well, almost a year. Well, actually, I didn't tell her how long, but she knows it was awhile from the photos."  
  
Chandler sank onto the couch, his head in his hands. "What did she say?"  
  
Rachel sighed as she sat down next to him. "She thinks she killed Monica."   
  
Chandler's head snapped up as he stared at her in disbelief. "What?!"  
  
"She thinks she killed Mon," Rachel repeated. "She said it's her fault Monica's dead and it's her fault you're so depressed. She thinks... she thinks you resent her."  
  
"That's crazy!" Chandler replied defensively. "She's my daughter! I love her, I'd do anything for her."  
  
"Okay, sweetie, don't take this the wrong way, but I have to say something." Chandler nodded. "I can see how she might think that way."  
  
"What?"   
  
Rach held up her hand. "I'm not saying she's right. I'm just saying I think I know where it's coming from."  
  
"Where?" he demanded.  
  
"Chandler, when was the last time you talked to her about Monica?" He was silent. "When was the last time you just went out and did something fun with her?"  
  
"Rach..."  
  
"Chandler, she's competing with a ghost." Reading his confused expression, she continued. "She's afraid of you, afraid of hurting you. She thinks that because she was born, Monica died, and that she's already taken enough from you. She has to live with the knowledge that she's under this shadow... the memory of someone she never knew. Your entire life is wrapped up in the memory of Monica."  
  
"She was my wife! She was everything to me, of course I'm going to miss her," he replied defensively.  
  
"I know, hon. But there's a different between just missing someone and... well, and what you're doing."  
  
"And what am I doing?"  
  
Rach looked at him sadly. "You're shutting out the world of the living. You want to be with Monica so badly that you're forgetting about the living, breathing humans around you."  
  
"Rachel..." His voice trailed off as his eyes began to sting. "When she died, I died right along with her. I'm doing the best I can!"  
  
"I know, sweetie, I know you are. But you've got to come back to the world. It's been almost eighteen years. I know you loved her--"  
  
"LOVE her," Chandler corrected.   
  
"See?" Rachel said sadly. "You treat her like she's still around."  
  
"So? Just because she died in the physical sense doesn't mean she has to die completely."  
  
"I know, Chandler. But there's a difference between trying to keep her memory alive and trying to keep HER alive. Look, you have a daughter who's amazing. She's smart and she's funny and she's amazing, but she's hurting too. And as much as I love her and as much as we all love her, me, Ross, Ben, Phoebe, Joey... none of us can help her with this. I mean, it was easy when she was little, but now... Chandler, she needs you."  
  
"How am I going to help her?"   
  
Rach sighed. "Talk about Monica. Don't make it such a touchy subject. She's struggling with something that she doesn't even feel like she can talk about."  
  
"Why now? I mean, Monica's been gone for her entire life..."  
  
"And now she's old enough to understand what that means. She's old enough to see your emotions, even when you hide them." She sighed as a tear rolled down his cheek. "Oh, Chandler, I know it's hard..."  
  
"No, you don't. Rach, it's been eighteen years and I can't stop hurting. As much as I want to move on, I can't. She was everything to me... she was the happiness and the sadness. The joys were doubled and the troubles were cut in half. I felt like as long as I had her, I'd always be okay. She was the reason I got up every morning... she gave me something to live for."  
  
"And she left you something to live for. Chandler, look at Sarah. She's got so much life... if you want to look at it this way, it's easy to see that the life Monica had is in your daughter. She's so full of life and energy just bursting to be set free. She's great."  
  
"She's her mother," he said softly, wiping his eyes.   
  
Rach smiled sadly. "She's you." He looked up, surprised. "She's you and she's Monica. She's got your wit and Monica's liveliness. She's got your humor and Monica's stubbornness. She's the perfect mix of both of you, both physically and in terms of character. And she's also got the pain of living without Monica... just like you." He sighed. "Chandler, imagine what would have happened if, God forbid, you died suddenly when Sarah was a baby. Monica would have been devastated, okay? God knows she would have been a wreck. She'd be feeling what you're feeling and she'd be dying inside, too. But put that into perspective... what would you have wanted her to do? To go on living and raise your daughter, right?" Chandler nodded slowly. "It's okay to be sad. Hell, it's expected. But you can't let that sadness be the key presence in your life. You have to live. You owe that to Monica, and you owe it to Sarah."   
  
Chandler nodded as he stood up slowly and gave Rachel a hug. "Thanks, Rach," he whispered. She nodded. "Now what do I do?"  
  
She smiled. "Just talk to her. About Monica. About whatever she wants to talk about. That'll be step one."   
  
He nodded and took a deep breath. "Here goes nothing."  
  
  
  
  
PART THREE COMING SOON! PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW! THANKS FOR READING! :-)  
  
  
  
  



	3. Truth be Told

HI AGAIN! SORRY THIS PART'S TAKEN SO LONG, BUT I WAS IN LONDON AND PARIS FOR A FEW WEEKS WITHOUT ACCESS TO A COMPUTER, SO I COULDN'T WRITE. ANYWAY, HERE, AT LONG LAST, IS PART THREE! PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW! THANKS!  
  
  
  
"Sarah?" Chandler closed the door behind him as he entered the apartment. "Sarah? Hon, you home?"  
  
"Yeah." He pushed open her bedroom door and peered around it.   
  
"Hey."  
  
"Hey."   
  
"Can I come in?" he asked after a moment.  
  
"Sure." He entered her room and sat on the bed beside her, gently moving Benbo so that he wouldn't sit on top of him. He smiled slightly. "Still sleep with this scruffy thing, huh?"  
  
"Yeah," she said softly. "I should try washing him, but I'm afraid he'll fall apart." Chandler smiled.  
  
"Yeah, that's probably dangerous." She nodded. He cleared his throat nervously. "You wanna go for a walk?" She looked up at him curiously.  
  
"A walk?"  
  
"Yeah. I thought... maybe we could go see your mom. If you want to. If not, we can just... I don't know, go to the park or something..."  
  
"No, I'd like to see Mom. I mean, if you would."  
  
He smiled. "Okay. Let's go. Grab your jacket."  
  
  
  
  
"I spoke to Rachel today." Sarah looked up, anxious. They were on the sidewalk in the cemetery and she had been silently wondering what had made her father suggest going. They almost never went together, with the exceptions of Christmas and Monica's birthday, and sometimes Easter. She suspected that her dad went on her birthday, the date of Monica's death, but she had never asked, knowing that he wouldn't want her to spend part of her birthday in a graveyard. She remained silent. "She said... uh... you went to her place with your baby album."  
  
"Yeah." They reached Monica's headstone and stood silently in front of it for a moment before Chandler sat down on the grass and patted the spot next to him. She sat down obediently. They sat in silence for a few moments before Chandler cleared his throat nervously.  
  
"Sarah--"  
  
"Dad, don't worry about it. I understand what happened. No big deal."  
  
"Yeah, actually, it is a big deal. Not just... not just the baby thing, but all of it. First of all... well, we can start with the baby thing. Sarah, I'm sorry that you had to figure that out, and especially that you figured it out the way you did. After your mom died..." His voice faltered and he paused before continuing. "I was afraid of what would happen to you if I tried to take care of you. I was so messed up... I didn't want you to suffer because of me, and I thought that Ross and Rachel could take care of you better than I could. I spent that first year trying to get my life in order... well, as much as I could, anyway." He paused and looked thoughtfully into the distance. "You know, they offered to adopt you legally when they thought I wouldn't take you back."   
  
Sarah looked up in surprised. "They what?"  
  
"Yeah... when you were about six months old, they considered just adopting you and raising you on their own." Sarah remained silent, shocked. He shook his head. "I almost forgot about that."  
  
"Why didn't you let them?" she asked quietly after a moment. Chandler turned to face her, surprised.  
  
"Because you're my daughter and I love you. You belong with me. I lost one of the most important women in my life, I wasn't about to lose the other." Sarah was silent as she gazed at Monica's gravestone, allowing her father's words to roll around in her ears. After a moment, he spoke again, his voice gentle.   
  
"Sarah, you didn't kill your mother." Her eyes filled with tears as she turned to face him, unable to come up with anything worthwhile to say. "Understand me?" She stared at him. "Sarah..."  
  
"But I did," she said quietly as she looked at the ground. "If it weren't for me, she'd still be here now. She'd still be with you."  
  
"Sarah, look at me." She looked up slowly. "Yes, I miss your mother. I still miss her so much it hurts. But... listen to me... if I were given the option... if someone said I could trade your life for hers, I wouldn't do it in a million years. You had absolutely no responsibility in her death... it was just one of those tragic things, and no one can be blamed for those." He gently pulled her toward him so that her head was leaning on his shoulder and his arm was around hers. "I don't ever want to hear you thinking that you were in any way responsible, okay?" He felt her nod against him and he sighed. "Good." He was silent for a moment as he gazed at the words on Mon's stone. "You know I actually yelled at her a week after we buried her?"   
  
Sarah straightened and stared at him. "You what?"   
  
He smiled ironically. "I came here to see her and I was still so messed up... I was a wreck, and while I was standing here I just started yelling at her... telling her I was mad at her for leaving me... for leaving us."  
  
"You yelled?"   
  
He chuckled slightly. "Yeah. Hollered. The people nearby thought I was nuts... but in a graveyard, no one disturbs you."  
  
"Yeah, I noticed that."   
  
He looked at her thoughtfully. "Do you come visit her a lot?"   
  
She looked back at him warily. "Yeah. Well, a lot lately." He nodded and was silent for a moment before she spoke again. "I miss her too, ya know." He turned to face her. "Just because I never knew her doesn't mean I don't miss her."  
  
Chandler nodded sadly. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart... I know I haven't been much good to you--"  
  
"That's not true," she interrupted. "You've given me a safe and loving home, and I appreciate that." She paused before she continued in a low voice. "But I'd live in a dumpster if it meant I could have a father who would talk to me."   
  
His eyes filled with tears as he looked at her. Her clear blue eyes looked so much like her mother's that he almost felt like he was seeing Monica again. "Sarah..."  
  
"Dad, I love you and I understand how much you loved Mom and how you miss her. But I need you. You're all I've got in this world apart from the rest of the gang... but I need you more than them. You're my father. You're the only father I'm ever going to have, and I'm sorry that you got the responsibilities of a mother as well, but that doesn't change the fact that I need you. And I need you to talk to me about Mom sometimes. I just... it feels like she's disappearing, and..." She trailed off as she wiped the tears that were rolling down her face. "I know I'll never get to know her... but I deserve to know as much as I can."  
  
He nodded sadly as he once again turned his attention to the tombstone. "Come on," he said after a moment, moving to get up.  
  
"Where?"  
  
"Just come. I think it's about time we did something." He held out his hand and pulled her up beside him, draping his arm around her shoulder.  
  
"Where are we going?"  
  
He smiled sadly. "You'll see."  
  
  
  
  
Fifteen minutes later they were at a storage place near their apartment. Chandler took his keys out of his pocket and sorted through them until he had a simple silver one that matched the padlock on one of the storage garages. Sarah watched silently as he undid the lock and hauled open the door.  
  
"Ready?" he asked.  
  
"It might help if I knew what I was supposed to be ready FOR," she replied.   
  
"Well, come inside and you'll figure it out." He entered the small garage-type space and sat in one of the chairs that had been propped up against the wall. He unfolded another one and placed it beside him, nodding for Sarah to sit down.  
  
"Okay... still not seeing it," she said, staring around her at the dusty boxes. Chandler sighed.  
  
"This is your mother's stuff," he explained quietly. Her eyes widened in surprise. "I... I couldn't handle having all of it in the apartment, but I couldn't bear the thought of getting rid of any of it. So I decided to just store it." He paused as he gazed around at the boxes.   
  
"Do you ever look through them?" she asked softly. He shook his head.  
  
"I tried a couple times, but I couldn't handle it. I just... I come and sit in here sometimes... sounds crazy, I know, it's just... I feel close to her somehow."  
  
She nodded understandingly. "What's in them?"  
  
"Why don't you look?"   
  
She stared at him, surprised. "Now?"  
  
He nodded. "I think you've waited long enough. More than long enough."   
  
She stared at him for a moment longer before slowly rising from her chair. "You're going to stay with me, right?"  
  
He nodded again. "Maybe it'll be easier with two of us."   
  
She turned and tentatively opened the top of one of the boxes. "Books," she said softly. She pulled one of them out and stared at the cover, frowning. As she opened it, her breath caught in her throat. "Journals." She turned to face him. "She kept journals?"  
  
He nodded. "I didn't even know she did until we were married. She wrote in them all the time... a lot when she was pregnant with you." Sarah ran her hands over the cover of the book softly. "She'd want you to read them," he said quietly, reading her mind. She looked at him again.  
  
"Have you read them?"  
  
He shook his head. "Again, I tried to once. But... I couldn't handle reading her words without her own voice behind them." Sarah nodded. She placed the first box on the floor and opened the one underneath it.  
  
"Photographs," she said. She pulled out a white album and turned to face her father.  
  
"Our wedding album," he said in a strangled voice before she spoke. She nodded, surprised when he held out his hand. She handed it to him and once again sat in the chair next to him. He pulled a small, rickety table in front of them and placed the album on it, opening it to the first page. Sarah heard his audible intake of breath as he saw the first picture and she stole a sideways glance at him. His eyes had filled with tears and he was staring at the photograph. He gently ran his finger over her face and smiled.  
  
"She made such a beautiful bride."   
  
Sarah smiled. "Yeah. And you don't look too shabby, either."   
  
He grinned. "Yeah, well, your mother wouldn't settle for a less-than-perfect wedding." He chuckled. "Did we ever tell you how crazy your mother was about getting married and having kids?" She shook her head. "Oh, man... we used to say she had baby fever. And she had this... binder...looking...THING -- the 'wedding book' or something. She'd been working on it since she was a kid... she'd always dreamed of the perfect wedding." He laughed again. "I proposed to her three times, you know."  
  
"Three?!" Sarah asked incredulously. "You didn't give up after the first 'no?'"  
  
He grinned as he flipped through the album. "Nope. Well, the first time I proposed because she was mad at me."  
  
Sarah frowned. "No offense, Dad, but that sounds... well, kinda ridiculous."  
  
He smiled. "It was. The second time we were in Las Vegas... we were playing craps at Caesar's Palace, and we decided that if your mother rolled a hard eight, we'd get married there and then, in one of the Vegas chapels."  
  
"I thought you said she was crazy about having the perfect wedding," she interjected. "She was willing to get married in a little Vegas wedding chapel?" He nodded. "Wow. She must have really loved you."  
  
He smiled slightly. "Yeah, I guess she must have."  
  
"What about the third time?"  
  
"Oh, well, third time's a charm, right? I bought the ring, I planned it all out... and it got ruined by one of her ex-boyfriends. I thought I'd lost her, but she ended up... well, she tried to propose to me, but she was crying so I proposed to her." Sarah grinned. "We got married a year later."  
  
"Wow. You're persistent. You know, most guys would give up after one let-down, let alone two."  
  
He smiled. "Yeah, well, I could handle her turning me down, as long as I still got to be the one to love her." She smiled as he closed the wedding album. "Okay, what other kind of stuff we got in these boxes?"  
  
Sarah reached into the third box and frowned. "What the hell is this?" she asked, pulling out a ragged lump of fabric.  
  
Chandler started to laugh and she stared at him. "It's a sock bunny," he said in between laughter.  
  
"A what?"  
  
"A sock bunny. Phoebe made it and your mother gave it to me for Valentine's Day."  
  
"She gave you an old sock with ears?"  
  
He nodded. "It's okay... I gave her a mixed tape with an ex-girlfriend's voice on it."  
  
Sarah frowned. "Were you mad at each other or something?"  
  
He shook his head. "No, it just... worked out weird."  
  
She nodded and pulled another object out of the box. "Is this the mixed tape?"  
  
He shrugged. "I dunno. Probably. There's a little radio/cassette player in here somewhere..." He glanced around. "There," he said, pointing toward the corner.   
  
Sarah grabbed it and popped the tape in, frowning when some unfamiliar lyrics filled the tiny room. "Who is this?" she asked, pausing when she noticed the pained look on her father's face and the tears that had filled his eyes.  
  
"Eric Clapton," he said softly.   
  
"Oh, yeah... I've heard of him." She waited for an explanation as to the song's significance.  
  
"This... this was the song we danced to the night we got engaged," he said softly after a moment. "It's called 'Wonderful Tonight.'"   
  
Sarah paused awkwardly. "Do you want me to stop it?"  
  
He nodded after a moment. She stopped the tape and took it out of the player, surprised when he held out his hand. She placed the cassette in his outstretched palm and looked at him curiously. "Later I want to hear what else is on it," he explained. She nodded, turning and taking something else out of one of the boxes. She paused before turning to face her father and holding a small picture frame toward him. Chandler took it and sighed as he gazed at the two faces looking back up at him.  
  
"That's your mother and Ross," he said quietly. "I think they were in elementary school here." He was silent as he gazed at the photo. "God, she looks like you did when you were young." Sarah remained silent as she gazed at her dad sadly. He looked up at her, his eyes brimming.  
  
"God, I miss her so much," he whispered, his voice cracking. She felt her eyes fill with tears as she approached him and sat in his lap, ignoring the fact that she was almost too tall to do so.  
  
"Me, too," she whispered, burying her face in her father's shoulder and crying along with him, realizing that she had been waiting to do so for as long as she could remember.  
  
  
  
  
SORRY THIS PART WAS SHORT, BUT... WELL, FRANKLY, I DON'T REALLY HAVE AN EXCUSE... IT'S JUST SHORT. :-) THERE'S PROBABLY GOING TO BE ONE OR TWO MORE PARTS... I'M WORKING ON A FEW OTHER FICS AT THE MOMENT AS WELL, WHICH I'M HOPING TO POST SOON... SUMMER'S JUST CRAAAAZY. LOL... PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW! THANKS. 


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